


Sensible Is As Sensible Does

by spindlekiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7227478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spindlekiss/pseuds/spindlekiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione has always put stock in the classic virtues: responsibility, pragmatism, an ability to respond sensibly. </p><p>Following Astoria Greengrass out into the wilderness of the moors can only end in disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensible Is As Sensible Does

“Oh, tis a terrible thing,” said Miss Astoria Greengrass, “That he should wander so.”

“There’s nothing to be done about it.” replied Miss Hermione Granger matter-of-factly, “You will simply have to buck up and find other things to occupy yourself with, like your stitching.”

The women returned to their embroidery in silence, and the only sound that interrupted the fruits of their labour was a jolly breeze making it’s soft way through the estate, and the distant trill of a bird calling to it’s mate. 

“Oh, bother.” Miss Astoria announced petulantly, a singular drop of crimson bleeding out the tip of her finger and forming a bead. “I shall have to start again, I’ve spoiled the fabric now.”

Miss Hermione sighed, “Clumsy, so very clumsy.”

“I can’t help it Herm, the whole practice of embroidery is so entirely dull that I’m surprised it has taken me this long to ruin it so.”

Miss Hermione looked out the window for a long moment and mustered some of the patience she was so renowned for. “I dare say your Mister Malfoy won’t mind, don’t stress yourself over it.”

Astoria threw her head back and laughed most improperly, wispy yellow hair catching in the sun and lighting up golden like the dust motes that floated so languorously through the air. “Oh, Hermione. I dare say my Mister Malfoy won’t mind, simply because he doesn’t notice me at all.”

“Hmph.” Hermione sniffed, disapproval evident in her aspect and her eye. Mister Malfoy, in her opinion, was too interested in Mister Potter by half. Some might say inappropriately so.

Everyone in the village knew that Miss Astoria, though perhaps less proper than etiquette strictly suggested, was both the most interesting and most handsome woman for near a thousand miles. Her figure was slim, her skin as pale as moonlight, and her eyes the very same colour as crystal or mirror-- gray pools that had no limit to their depth. 

Hermione thought it a perfect waste that the one man in the county who seemed incapable of recognising these charms, was the very man Astoria had chosen to bestow her affections upon. 

Not that it had done her much good, mused Hermione, Malfoy remained as aloof as ever, his perfect indifference not just an utter insult, but a god damned shame. 

“Don’t sigh like that, old friend, it saddens me.” said Astoria. “Besides, we have such a lot to be smiling over that I think it should be a simple thing to banish that cad Mister Malfoy to some absurdly dark corner of the memory and shut him up there for good. What say you?”

“I say, good riddance.” said Hermione, with a small smile, she set down her embroidery and stared at her friend. “Though I’m not quite certain what it is we supposedly possess such a lot of to be smiling over. Colour me stumped.”

“Don’t be so negative, there’s a great many things.” replied Astoria, standing clumsily and smoothing her dress. 

Hermione looked at the creases and wrinkled her nose, Astoria really was the most improper lady she had ever had the pleasure of meeting. 

“Come,” said Astoria, extending a small hand and dimpling demurely. “I’ll show you.”

Hermione looked up into the pale eyes and nodded. “Of course.”

 

“I’ve told you before how my father died?” Astoria said as she pulled off her stockings.

Hermione looked away, trying, courteously, to ignore the rather rousing sight of her friend’s bare ankles and white legs. 

“Yes,” replied Hermione uncomfortably. “Do you really think your should conduct yourself so, when a shepherd or working boy could come through at any moment?”

Astoria laughed. “Don’t be so distressed, I rather think they’d appreciate the sight.”

Reckless, thought Hermione, so, so, utterly reckless. 

Astoria, seeming bored of the conversation, hitched up her skirts to the knee and stepped into the brook.

“You’re going to catch cold.” cried Hermione. “And then who do you suppose will be forced to nurse you back to health?”   
“Why, my good friend Miss Hermione Granger, if she would be so kind.” replied Astoria, clambering onto a rock in the centre of the water and pushing a clump of dead leaves from a stony knoll with a stick she had found. 

Hermione, who had remained on the shore with her shoes firmly tied and her stockings firmly laced, watched her friend with barely veiled anxiety. “Astoria, I swear to you, should you catch cold from this recklessness, I will not even weep should you join the fishes to slumber.”

Astoria lifted an offended hand to her mouth and gasped theatrically. “This from my dearest friend.” she said, before a wicked gleam came across her eye. “I do wonder how Mister Malfoy should react. Do you think he could be brought to tear? Perhaps prostrate himself before my pretty corpse in a desperate display of ill-realised woe, crying ‘oh, my love, discovered too late!?”

Astoria looked around herself absent-mindedly and skipped over to another mossy rock. “I’d quite like that.” she added as an afterthought.

“I’m sure of it.” muttered Hermione dryly. 

She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised at Astoria’s antics, the woman had been a menace her entire life and if Hermione was completely honest with herself, it wasn’t a bother so much as an inconvenient delight.

“I think I should drown myself in this lake right this second, just to see it so.” said Astoria.

Hermione looked up, and saw that Astoria, the little idiot, had climbed up to the steep-most rock and was stood before the deepest section of the brook. The bottom was dark, and Hermione knew, paved with a natural assortment of dangerous, jagged, rock. 

“I can’t swim you know.” Astoria said, with the air of one commenting on something as mundane as the weather, or which variety of tea they preferred. 

“Astoria!” Hermione exclaimed. “Come down at once.”   
“Don’t scold. I’ll come down.”

Hermione glared severely. “Alive. Come down at once, and alive, you silly idiot.”

Astoria sniffed. “Why is it that you hate poetry so, think of what a grand tale it would be, beautiful girl found at bottom of lake, waiting for lover like some arthurian damsel.”

“A pretty picture to be sure,” said Hermione tersely. “But not one as pretty as this life. Come down, Astoria, or so help me-”

“Would you be upset?” Astoria interrupted curiously.

There came a long beat of silence, where the only noise in Hermione’s ears was the rushing of her own blood and some sort of base fury that she hadn’t felt since the last incident in which Astoria had risked her own life for the sake of some childish jape. 

“Of course I would be.” 

“Terribly?” Astoria pouted. 

Hermione stared up at her friend, barefoot and stood precariously high. The dappled light that poured through the trees lit her back and silhouetted her in mythic gold. Like some sort of wood naiad, or a faerie. 

“You do speak some silliness at times.” said Hermione huffily. “Terribly. I’d miss you terribly, and you know it. Please come down.”

“I shan’t.” said Astoria. “I’ve come too far to stop now.” 

Astoria pulled the ribbons out from her hair to Hermione’s ever growing alarm, and a wispy cloud of gold floated free. Yellow strands rustled casually in the breeze. 

“Astoria!” Hermione hissed. “Stop it.”  
Astoria ignored her, and went about unfastening her skirts. The pretty white fabrics fell to the ground, left to collect mud and whatever else. 

“I beg of you, Astoria. Stop this.” cried Hermione. She didn’t dare cross the brooke herself, for fear that Astoria would see her coming and jump out of spite. “Whatever would Mister Malfoy think?” she added as a last resort. Hermione didn’t imagine the fashionable man would approve of what he might perceive as such feminine hysterics. 

“I rather think he wouldn’t care a whit.” said Astoria. “Though the image of him sobbing over my lifeless body is a pleasant one.” 

“God be damned!” shouted Hermione, in a rare display of both strong emotion and coarse language. “Astoria Greengrass, descend this instant!”

Astoria giggled, and unfastened her dress, tossing it away to float downstream. She was left in nothing but her underthings and a corset-- boned tightly and accentuating the bold flair of her hips.

Hermione was torn between the urge to stare with wide eyes, and the desire to look away. 

She did not choose the latter. 

“Astoria.” she warned. 

Astoria’s hand moved for a moment behind her back in a complicated gesture, and then she pulled away her corset before slipping out of her underthings. 

“Naked as the day she was born.” muttered Hermione. “Gods, be with me.”

Astoria closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, enjoying the feeling of warmth that then encompassed the entirety of her body. She enjoyed to, the feeling of Hermione’s eyes roaming the expanse of her skin, and subtly shifted so that she stood, shamelessly, with her legs apart. 

Hermione, who stood frozen at the edge of the brook, was caught between the two explosive feelings of mind numbing panic and unexplored attraction. 

Astoria took a step forward, and Hermione shook herself. Gods.

“Don’t!” Hermione cried, but it was too late.

Astoria, in one leap, had flung herself from her perch into the icy depths below. 

Hermione screamed, and stumbled into the water herself, wading clumsily towards where Astoria had hit with the surface with a loud smack. Hermione’s skirts were heavy and cumbersome, she could move fast enough. A dry sob wrenched itself from her throat. 

Hermione, who had always considered herself of a responsible stock, knew the exact way to solve a cutlery emergency, or fix an invitation, or understand a difficult language in a complex book. Rescuing a friend from certain death had never been covered in her etiquette tutelage or even her political classes.

She used her arms to propel herself through the water faster, and thanked her stars for having grown up on a property, with farmhand Weasley lads who had ensured she know how to swim. 

“Astoria?” she cried. “Astoria!?”

There was no reply, and indeed, the murky water had gone completely still again, excluding the rippled expelled from Hermione’s own clumsy strokes. 

She felt her eyes well with tears, and told herself harshly to stop it.

Think sensibly, she instructed herself. What would Ronald do?

Ronald being her dearest friend. 

She squeezed her eyes closed, and then with a tremulous hand, undid the knot that fastened her heavy skirts. In less than a second they were dragged down to the bottom and keeping afloat became a rather less strenuous task. 

She took a deep breath then, and submerged herself completely. Astoria had landed in the deepest section of the brook, and so that was where Hermione propelled herself. He arms and legs burned with the effort, so unpracticed where her muscles, but she swam on, pulling herself deeper into the inky blackness and feeling around for her friend.

Perhaps Astoria wasn’t dead, perhaps Hermione could drag her body to the surface and press at her lungs until they drew breath.

She felt around, but to her utmost horror, could find nothing but what she recognised were dead leaves and mossy stone. 

Body on fire, she bent her legs before propelling herself to the surface by pushing off from the rocks. Light came ever closer, and so too, did oxygen. When she breached the top she did so with a gasp, dragging endless amounts of air into her neglected lungs. 

Astoria, who was sat on a rock nearby, cackled with glee. Her breasts jiggled as she laughed and Hermione had never hated her so much as in that moment. 

“You!”   
“I lied.” said Astoria. “I’m a very talented swimmer, Father ensured it.”

“You.” repeated Hermione, still gasping for air, shock and adrenalin making her heart race. 

“Me.” said Astoria with a smile. Her lips were a vivid pink, and her usually pale skin was flushed with life. 

“How can you be so animated!” exclaimed Hermione, fury painting her words. “I thought you’d died!” 

“I know,” said Astoria, dimple making itself at home. “And it was ever so sweet of you to rush in after me.” 

Hermione glowered at her. “I have never felt so furious at you as I do in this moment.” she said seriously, her feet were cold, and she felt close to tears as she continued to tread water and stare up at her friend. “How could you?”

Astoria stared at her for a moment, golden hair damp and plastered against her neck. She still looked a picture. 

“I just wanted to see if you cared.” she said in a small voice.

“I told you I did!” said Hermione, pulling a strand of dark hair from her mouth. “I told you!”

“It’s hardly the same.” pouted Astoria. “Words, words, words. How am I to know if you would act on them?”   
Hermione took one look at Astoria small shoulders, curled inwards and wrapped around her knobbly knees, hated herself, and felt any residual anger drain from herself in an instant. 

“Of course I would.” said Hermione. “Surely you knew that?”

Astoria grinned wickedly. “I suppose I did.” she said, uncrossing her legs without any sense of self-consciousness and letting her ankles dangle loosely in the water. 

Hermione tried valiantly to look anywhere other than her nude friend, the rocks, for example, which had quite suddenly become very interesting, very- oh. A splash came, and Hermione realised that Astoria must have slid into the water again. 

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Get back at once.”

Astoria grinned, head just out of the water, pale eyes crinkled in delight.

“Why should I?” Astoria asked. 

“Because!” Hermione began, “oof!”

“Hold me up.” Astoria demanded. 

“I can’t.” replied Hermione, at a loss. 

Astoria looked at her for a moment, and Hermione was forced to endure the uncomfortable sensation that came with feeling as though someone had peered at you once and realised all of your secrets. 

Astoria lifted Hermione’s hands carefully, and placed them around her bare waist. 

Hermione felt her cheeks heat, but she couldn’t help but wonder at the smoothness of Astoria’s skin, and the way her compact waist felt, and how her ribs looked like a fragile sort of cage, her heart a trapped bird, pulsing and flapping a staccato rhythm that would not go ignored. 

Astoria wrapped her legs around Hermione’s waist then, and ran a small hand through Hermione’s bushy hair, untangling a knot carefully. 

“Reckless.” Hermione whispered, mouth dry.

“In the best sense.” replied Astoria, who chose that moment to lean down, clasp Hermione’s face in her hands and lay a soft kiss upon her lips. 

Hermione shuddered. “We should stop.”

“No,” said Astoria, peering at her. “We should not.”

The impasse lasted a long moment, but then Astoria, impulsive wretch that she was, grinned. Her teeth were straight and white and Hermione had never seen a smile as beautiful. 

“We must at least get out of the lake.” Hermione said. “I’m still rather anxious about contracting an illness of some sort.”

Astoria nodded slowly, and a smirk sat down in the corner of her pink mouth. 

The two women slowly made their way out of the water, Astoria first, extending a hand to pull Hermione up and out. 

Like one in a trance, Hermione followed Astoria through a small patch of foliage, and behind the tall craggy rocks that surrounded the brook. She walked slowly into a leafy collection of fern and lay down, pulling Hermione with her. 

“They’re like umbrella’s” said Hermione wonderingly. And indeed, the over-large fern Astoria had hidden them beneath, was dome like in shape, and the perfect camouflage. 

“Rather more like a tent I should think.” said Astoria. “But it’s of no consequence to me.”

“Why ever not?” said Hermione, reaching a hand out as though to touch.

Astoria grasped her wrist and pulled it back down towards them. “Because.” she said slowly. “There are other things.”

“Like what?” asked Hermione, though by this time she was rather certain she knew. 

Her parents had never censored what she read in their library, and the collection her family had amassed over the years was vast to say the least. There was information to be found on nearly every topic. 

“Like this.” said Astoria, laying down on her back and leading Hermione’s hand lower.

Hermione gasped when her hand touched the wetness, but that didn’t stop her from pressing her thumb against the nub, the way she liked to do to herself. 

Astoria let loose a small whine, and arched her back up invitingly. Her small breasts quaked with ever tremulous breath. 

“Beautiful.” Hermione said, before realising it. She wanted to take the word back almost immediately, but then Astoria’s eyes snapped open and peered at her so very knowingly that Hermione found she couldn’t think of a single word to say. 

“Take them off.” Astoria said, running a hand over the corsetry and the underthings that Hermione had not let fall to the brook. 

She nodded, and made a tremendous mess of undoing the clasps until Astoria reached behind her back and unlaced the corset for her. 

It came off, and Hermione sighed in relief as her breasts tumbled free. 

“You’re body is lovely.” Astoria said without shame.

“How can you be so bold?” Hermione groaned. “I don’t understand you at all.”

Astoria laughed, and lay back again, hands beneath her head casually. “You don’t need to understand me, just touch me.” she said. 

Hermione slipped out of her own underthings, and the afternoon breeze went cool around her opening. She shivered. 

“Touch me.” Astoria repeated. 

Hermione reached a hesitant hand down to Astoria’s pink folds, the same vibrant colour as her lips, Hermione noted, and curled a finger inside Astoria’s entrance. 

“Good. Good, that’s lovely.” Astoria panted, rocking wantonly into the touch. 

You’re lovely, thought Hermione wonderingly, as she pressed keen fingers against Astoria’s clit and felt her lovers natural wet dampen her fingers. 

“Oh!” cried Astoria loudly. “Oh!”

“Shh.” said Hermione, using her other hand to play with Astoria’s breast, rubbing and rolling, clasping the dusky nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

Astoria wound a hand through Hermione’s hair, and pulled her down for a passionate kiss. 

For Hermione, who had never kissed anyone before Astoria, it was like discovering that there were secret explosives hidden within her body, explosives that had been very suddenly exposed to fire in this tangling of bodies with her oldest friend Astoria Greengrass. 

There soon came a franticness, a frenetic sort of energy that had Astoria twitching and shuddering, nipples pulled tight and back arching. Hermione eventually had to hold her hips down with a hand.

Astoria peered at her through slitted eyes. 

Hermione only smiled softly, before moving herself down Astoria body, caressing and kissing and pressing against anywhere sensitive before reaching her destination. She gave first an exploratory lick, before ignoring Astoria’s rough moan and suckling at her opening like a newborn did a breast. She thrust her tongue in sporadically, tasting Astoria and feeling her insides twitch with pleasure. 

Astoria’s hands made a mess of her hair, and without meaning to, she pressed Hermione’s head, and therefore her mouth, closer into her heat. Astoria wrapped her legs loosely around Hermione’s head and moaned without care. 

Hermione licked a forceful stripe over a bundle of nerves, and Astoria flung a hand back into the soil. 

“God.” she pleaded. “Hermione.”

And then she came, like a leaf falling over the top of a waterfall, steadily going, and then all at once in an ecstatic drop into nothingness. 

It felt very real all of a sudden, and it had only been Astoria’s intention to have some fun. Instead, she now caught herself clutching at Hermione’s hair with something akin to passion, and staring at the dark tangle she had made of Hermione oft tucked away hair. Astoria had known there had always been a wildness to Hermione, a wildness that the sensible girl preferred to restrain carefully. 

Seeing it with her own eyes was different. 

Mister Malfoy was the farthest thing from Astoria’s mind, and instead, her thoughts were full to brimming with Hermione Granger. Hermione ‘sensible’ Granger, whom had been her dearest friend, a responsible anchor who she had tormented and tempted all these years for the entertainment of it all alone.

And now, now that they had come to this?

Astoria had never intended to subject herself to anything as paltry as feelings, or, dare she say it? 

Love? No, no. 

She took one last look at Hermione’s pupil-blown brown eyes, then grabbed the woman’s clothing and fled. 

It was a very good thing indeed, she thought to herself as she pulled the thin dress over her shoulders, that she would be able to find a proper suitor as quickly as she knew she could sprint from an unpleasant situation. 

 

When Miss Hermione Granger ran away with a pretty maid by the name of Ginny Weasley the very next summer, Astoria smoothed her hair, looked at her husband with some distaste, and told herself very sternly that she wasn’t jealous.

**Author's Note:**

> Do not own these characters. Thankyou very much for reading.


End file.
